Map of the World
by ghostofanother
Summary: Sometimes what you don't see is what's right in front of you...Sometimes, you push that as far away as possible to see only what you want to...
1. Prologue Captured

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Sam, Dean or anything else you recognize from the show…I figure that much must be obvious. I do own the plot, though not the legend. Oh, and Makenna is mine as well… And I'm not about to give her up! On another note, Samhain Isle does not exist…at least not to my knowledge. The word, in Celtic means November, which is the beginning of winter and the dark season of the Celtic calendar. I thought it would be fitting and enjoyed the ironic twist of the first three letters being the name of the lovable, youngest Winchester!

**Map of the World**

_Prologue_

The metal boning of her corset dug into the soft, milky flesh just above her hip bones angrily, as though trying to prove the idea of the corset itself being nothing more than another torture device thought up by men to enslave their women in a physical sense. She hated it. She gritted her teeth in anger, resentment, and determination, not about to show any sort of emotion to anyone - and especially not weakness.

Her wedding day, and all on the island had shown up for the joyous event. It was too bad that she was the only one not experiencing the joy. She supposed that if others knew the true nature of the relationship on display, they wouldn't be so happy either. She wanted nothing more than to run out of the small country church and back to the ocean.

The water wasn't just calming, but was her home. She belonged there, and someday, she would return. Samhain Isle would not become prison.

She laughed at all the funny little quips and jokes that everyone had prepared for her, but her husband seemed to notice that she was distant, distracted. He could almost empathize with her situation. _Almost_. He had been struck by her incomparable beauty from the moment he'd seen her, dancing away, careless and free, her milky skin a harsh contrast to the dark night around her. Sand had clung to her bare feet and the still wet flesh of her perfectly shaped legs, and her naked form seemed to call out to him.

The last thing she had expected was to be caught. It was rare that any human was even near the shore this late at night. She had supposed that the legends had drawn him there, and he'd succeeded in what he'd come for. And he would live to see the day when he regretted first capturing that first glimpse of her that pitch black evening.

That much she had vowed, not only to herself, but to her yet unborn children. They would see the dark depths of the sea once again.


	2. Her face is a map of the world

**Disclaimer:** See Prologue…

_Chapter One_

_Her face is a map of the world…_

Sam sat, hunched over the rickety motel table, yet another random newspaper spread in front of him, as his unseeing eyes stared at the same spot between newsprint. He sighed, frustrated at their inability to find another job. It was as if, all of a sudden, all supernatural beings had gone on vacation or something.

"Maybe they all went back to hell," Dean's voice broke Sam's day dreaming from across the room, where he sat perched on a stiff bed, leaning against the headboard with the laptop balancing on muscular thighs.

Sam snorted at that, the image in his head hilariously ridiculous in its depiction of God sentencing all worldly evil to an eternity of hell. _And the whole ordeal going unnoticed_. "Come on, this doesn't just stop happening, Dean," he finally answered, pushing the newspaper to the floor in desertion and sitting back in the arm chair, which teetered precariously under his weight. That's what he and his brother get for slacking off on earning cash.

"I don't know, Sam. I don't have any other explanation for it. We haven't heard from Dad in weeks, and we've been aimlessly wandering the countryside looking for anything and everything that might even come close to requiring our certain area of expertise. There's not much more we can do than just wait."

Sam sighed again. He couldn't recall the name of the Podunk town they were currently residing in, though he knew there were somewhere in Oklahoma. Nor could he remember the last time that they'd even come across anything that looked like it called for either them or their offbeat line of work. He was getting restless. And the fact that they couldn't even contact their father for fear of what may or may not happen to him wasn't making their lives any easier.

Dean's grunt of interest drew his own, and he stood and moved toward the mattress his older brother was currently seated on. "What is it?" he inquires, sitting on the edge near Dean's feet.

"I just ran across an article from the _Taholah Times_ from Taholah, Washington. Seems there's been quite a few fishing ships going down or coming back without any crew on board in Grays Harbor. Other than being fishing boats, the only common denominator between all of them is that they ran within three miles of a little island about thirty miles out called Samhain Isle," Dean explains, his brow furrowed in concentration and eyes never leaving the glowing screen of the laptop.

"I'm going to ignore the irony of the title and all, but yeah…so you think it's our kinda thing?" Sam looks hopefully at his brother, not necessarily wanting to hear a negative answer - though possibly true - but optimistic at the idea of a new gig.

"Might as well check it out. It's not like anything else is calling our names," Dean grins widely at his baby brother, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. "Get the stuff packed up, Sammy. We're going to Washington."

☼☼☼

"So, what did you find?" Dean asks quietly, leaning over Sam's shoulder to peer at the large book spread out in front of the younger Winchester.

"Samhain Isle was first settled in the early 1800's by mariners. No one really knows the origin of Irish culture there. The title of the island is from the ancient Celtic calendar, and it translates into 'November'. It's generally accepted that when the British were first settling western Canada, they happened to have some Irish seamen along, who then settled in some of northwestern Washington and then out onto Samhain Isle.

The population of the island has never been large; it's never, in its 130 some years reached 1,000 citizens. It's a small island, maybe four miles long and two miles across. Today, the population of the island is maybe 500, 600 people. And they pretty much keep to themselves, employing pilots or seamen to come to the mainland for supplies. They've always been a fairly self-sufficient people."

"So, you're saying that they're primitive. You know, living in caves and small huts and whatnot?" Dean surmises, chewing thoughtfully on the tip of his pen.

"No. Absolutely not. Though they do tend to keep to themselves, they have all the luxuries of today. It's said to be pretty elite out there. Old money kind of stuff. Their citizens have always made a killing in the fish and sea mammal pelt market because it's said to be rich with fish and seal. So, they've got everything you and I would have if we were to stay put," Sam explains, his desire to live a normal life coming to the surface once again.

Dean decides to make better of the situation and only acknowledge it with a short, witty remark, "Maybe you'll have the white picket fence someday, bro, but for now, we've got phantom pirates to hunt down."

"What makes you think they're pirates?" Sam scoffs, raising a skeptical eyebrow at his brother.

"I don't know…'cause pirates are cool?" Dean suggests, shrugging indifferently.

"How _do_ you manage to get by in this world," Sam smirks, shaking his head in disbelief at his brother's antics.

"Well, by my good looks and charm of course," Dean replies grandly, sweeping himself out of the uncomfortable wooden library chair he'd settled in. "Now, if your calculations are correct, Mr. Spock, I think our next destination is Samhain Isle," he states in his best Captain Kirk impression.

"Right, compare _me _to the alien, when you're the weird one," Sam growls, following his brother out of the small public building.

☼☼☼

Neither of the brothers knew exactly what they were looking for. For all the idea they had, it _could _have been phantom pirates they were after. Of course, Sam prayed that it was anything but, even if it was only so that he wouldn't have to hear his brother gloat. However, in their line of work, nothing could be ruled out as possibility.

The ferry to Samhain only ran three times a day, and it was a long ride. Dean had almost had to leave the Impala on the mainland, but after bribing the attendant, he'd succeeded in squeezing his muscle car on the vessel, and now they had nothing more to do than wait.

"So, you said that the island was originally settled by Irish, right?" Dean asks, obviously only talking shop because he's bored out of his mind. Sam nods in the affirmative, eliciting a grunt from Dean. "Do they have any folklore about the sea?"

"Well, yeah. Ireland was big on the whole seafaring life. There're tons of legends about fin folk, and mer-people. But I don't think Ariel and Flounder had anything to do with this," Sam states, sarcasm coating his last phrase.

Looking out over the water toward a small section of land located, quite literally, in the middle of the ocean, Dean's attention is suddenly drawn to a colony of seals sunning themselves on high, jutting rocks. He watches for a while, knowing that a thought is in the back of his mind, but he can't quite reach it.

"What about seals?" he finally inquires, hazel eyes still fixed on the intelligent sea mammals.

"You think that a colony of seals are killing fishermen and kidnapping them from their boats?" Sam scoffs, following Dean's gaze to the colony.

Dean cuffs his little brother on the back of the head, giving him a look reminiscent of their father when Dean came home with an 'F' in Algebra. "No, idiot. I was referring to the legends. Isn't there an old Irish legend about seal people?"

Sam stops for a moment, obviously sweeping the holds of his mind for anything remotely like what his brother is suggesting. After a few moments, he reaches the laptop out of the bag at his feet, setting it on the picnic style table in front of him.

The elder Winchester waits as patiently as possible, only tapping his fingers against the wood of their bench a couple of times before Sam finds something.

"Yeah, there are myths about selkie-folk. Seals that have magical skins and can turn into humans. Of course, the recordings of how often they could turn into humans are not at all alike. Some say only at certain times of year, and maybe only once a year. Others say every night. It varies."

"And what are they known to be like?" Dean leans over to look at the screen, pushing Sam aside lightly.

"It says that they're generally thought to be peace loving creatures. However, when their families or colonies are compromised, they have been known to lash out at fishermen and such. But there are very few accounts of that ever happening," Sam explains, looking out at the now distant colony of sea creatures. "You don't seriously think we're dealing with angry selkies, do you?"

"It's not out of the question, Sammy. I mean, we've dealt with weirder, right?" Dean shrugs.

"I guess so, but, according to everything I've ever heard of them, they're peaceful," Sam reiterates.

"You said it yourself, they're peaceful until compromised. If some of their kind has become endangered by the fishing industry around here, or if some crooks are suddenly hunting for seal pelt, that just might be enough to piss them off. Come on, Sam, you'd be pretty fucked up if someone was hunting me and Dad for our skins, wouldn't you?"

"Well…I…Yeah, I would. But why now?"

"Maybe it's only become serious now. Maybe they're sick of being hunted and treated like shit. I don't know why now…all I know is that we have to fix it."

☼☼☼

"So, how do you begin a search for evidence of mythical creatures?"

"Dean, what makes you think I would know the answer to that."

"Well, don't they have courses on capturing unicorns and fairy tale beings in college?" Dean teases, eyeing his brother out of the corner of his eye.

"No, Dean…I can't say that I've ever heard of a college offering those courses," Sam groans, merely humoring his brother.

The books hadn't lied. Samhain Isle was absolutely tiny. Dean was nearly scared to death that the Impala would put them at risk of sinking the entire land mass into the ocean, to be lost forever. And he was definitely more worried about the loss of the car than the island and its inhabitants.

"Did the article say anything about witnesses?" Sam finally inquires, his eyes breezing over the small town that lay around them. Though these people were said to be 'old money', they definitely lived middle class lives.

"Yeah…none. But it did say that the only fishing company to not be hit by tragedy was the company from here. So, I was thinking that maybe, we could start questioning people there. See if they've seen or heard anything strange around here lately," Dean replies casually.

Though the company headquarters was on the opposite side of the island from the ferry dock, it didn't take long to get there. Four miles went quickly when you were having fun.

Dean strode easily, and a bit cockily into the small building, looking only briefly at the painted logo on the door. The young man behind the counter smiled at the brothers genially, his ice blue eyes sparkling in the sunlight that came in off the open warehouse door toward the ocean.

"Hi there. Can I help you gentlemen?" He couldn't have been more than 21 years old, just short of Sam's own age.

"We're from the Washington State Police," Dean answers politely. "Here to ask about the, uh…disappearances that have been going on."

"Oh, I see." Upon mention of the tragedies, the young man's mood and face immediately darken, obviously clouded over in either sadness or guilt, neither Sam nor Dean could quite gauge it. "Well, no one around here has seen anything. That you can be sure of."

"How long has this operation been in business?" Sam pipes in, brow furrowed in concentration and feigned professionalism.

"The company has been in the O'Doul family for…gosh…a hundred years, maybe?" he's hesitant, not positive on the intel, and obviously wanting to get it right for the state cops. He looks around, trying his hardest to find someone who could answer the question more clearly. Across the room, near the open warehouse door, a middle aged man has been loading some large crates onto wooden flats. "Hey, Ben! How long has the company belonged to the O'Douls?"

The older man straightens, scratching his head in thought and peering through eye glasses at the three young men. "I'd say around a hundred years, Michael. Why?"

"These gentlemen are from the state police. Looking into the goings on," Michael calls back. "Thanks, Ben." Ben gives a 'no problem' gesture and returns to his work.

"So, O'Doul's is the only company that hasn't lost any ships or fishermen, am I correct in saying that?" Dean presses, hazel eyes fixed intently on Michael.

"Yes, sir."

"And you don't find that a bit odd?" Sam nearly cringes at the suspicious tone in his brother's deep voice.

"Can't say as I do, no," Michael's reply is timid, as though he's under interrogation.

"Well, thank you for your time," Sam interjects before Dean can push any further.

"I don't really feel like I've helped at all, but you're welcome, anyhow," Michael smiles up at him, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

"We appreciate it, really," Dean says in an over the top, sarcastic manner.

Sam rolls his eyes, nodding a 'goodbye' to Michael and leading his brother out of the small building. "I get belligerent, but that was just nuts, Dean."

"What? You don't think it's suspicious that the only company to not fall victim to this stuff is this one?"

"So, what? You think that it's all some master plan made up by this small fishing outfit to monopolize the market? Dean, that's crazy…and completely not what we want to hear."

"I don't know about you, but I'm here for the truth…and if it's not our kinda case, it's not our kinda case," he replies with a note of finality, leaning on the top of his beloved car. From where he stands, he can see the beach and the ocean waves lapping against the sand of it. Wandering along the edge of the water, he spots a young woman, who immediately grabs his attention.

Sam, following his brother's attentive gaze, sighs heavily. "Did we or did we not have the discussion about your upstairs brain?"

"Shut up, Sammy. Who says we can't question civilians? If it is some of these fantasy creatures wreaking havoc on the mainland fishing boats, then anybody around here could know something about it."

Sam merely rolls his eyes, which then focus on the fast disappearing form of his older brother as he makes his way down to the beach. There is an uncharacteristic swing in Dean's step, as though he actually _may _not know what to expect out of this girl. Of course, it's only enough for someone in the role of little brother to notice.

Dean's boots crunch against the fine sand, but he doesn't care that it will remove the element of surprise. He only wants to talk to her.

She is folded in half, retrieving some unknown object from the sand. He steps up behind her, his body confident, angry even. She doesn't even seem to notice his presence. Hands shoved in his jacket pockets, he looks her over, eyes roaming, albeit briefly, over her perfect ass. He clears his suddenly dry throat, loudly cutting through the air.

She turns slowly, her dark eyes meeting his hazel, his warm breath bouncing off her cheeks. She is neither surprised by his presence nor phased by his nearness. Both her self assuredness and self awareness unsettling.

For a minute, Dean can feel his breath leave his body, and he wonders if this is what falling feels like. Of course, he meant in the figurative, romantic sense, which is something he'd never admit aloud. He finds himself lost in dark pools of…everything. This young woman, girl even, bears an old soul…the kind passed down from generation to generation. And she has a beauty that only the earth itself could ever know.

He can practically feel her reading his mind, crawling into his soul through his eyes. But he couldn't even begin to read her, and that disturbed him more than that old soul, or the dark, endless eyes. Maybe disturbed was the most appropriate word…intrigued, infatuated…no woman had ever made him feel this way. Well, no woman aside from one, and she'd died in that tremendous fire 22 years ago.

☼☼☼

**A/N:** Thought I'd leave you all with no dialogue and simply exposition, and quite a cliffhanger. I got great reviews for the prologue, even if the boys weren't present, so I appreciate those of you who did review, and my reward to you is this chapter…This is the most confident I've ever been in my own writing.

On another note, Taholah, Washington, really does exist, though I doubt that their paper is the _Taholah Times_…that was just me taking creative liberty. And no, I have never been to Taholah, so I hope that no one is offended by this, as it was only briefly mentioned.


	3. I feel like walking the world

**Disclaimer: **see Prologue, 'cause nothing's changed…

**A/N: ** I'd like to thank all my reviewers…you guys rock! For those of you wondering what the hell the end of the last chapter meant, well, stay tuned...I can't give it all away, silly…OH, and I've been forgetting something…The title for this as well as many of the chapter titles come from the brilliant recording artist KT Tunstall, so thank you to her as well!

_Chapter Two_

_I feel like walking the world..._

He was trapped, falling into the forever that this girl represented, and Dean couldn't even find his damn voice.

She smiled, warm and easy, as if she'd been through this before. "You're here about the ships, aren't you?" she supplies, graciously, not in anyway spiteful. Her voice, melodic and soft, surprises Dean, as he wasn't sure he could hear any longer.

Once again, he clears his throat, trying desperately to think of something…anything. "Uh…yeah, the ships. Can you tell me anything?"

"No. As I'm sure someone up at O'Douls already told you, no one has actually seen anything. And dead men tell no tales." Her voice lowers, her eyes clouding over, and like nothing had happened, Dean feels normal once again.

"And you haven't seen or heard _any_thing out of the ordinary lately. I mean, you _can_ see for miles from the island. It's not like you couldn't notice," he suggests, the voice no longer sounding like his own, but strange. Distant and kind, none of the usual suspicion had crept into it.

"It's true, you can see for miles. And yes, someone should have seen something, but as far as I know, no one has. And I am positive that I haven't seen a thing," she states firmly, her tone softening once again, and those near black orbs clearing again. They take Dean's breath away for only a moment. "I'm sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Makenna Morgandy."

"Dean Winchester," he replies, taking the hand she offered. "That's a good, strong, Irish name, Makenna."

"Yeah, well, my family's all about our roots," she laughs, a melodic, natural sound. Silence falls upon the two, and Makenna takes her hand from his, looking out to the ocean, her eyes haunted and sad. "No one can help you. That much I know. There have been no sightings, no survivors, nothing. Good luck, Dean Winchester."

He watched her walk away, his mind still working to wrap itself around the encounter. He didn't notice Sam appear at his side.

"She know anything?" the younger Winchester inquires, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans as he watches the young girl disappear along the beach as well.

"No. But there's something about her. Something really weird's going on here, I definitely think this is our kinda case."

☼☼☼

Dean couldn't sleep. For the first time in months, Sam slept with no trouble, no nightmares, and no waking in the middle of the night not knowing where he is. But Dean couldn't sleep.

Their hotel, which the cost of had nearly broken the bank, was perched on a hill that lead directly down to the beach, and the window in the boys' room looked out over the long stretch of sand.

Makenna had completely taken him by surprise. She was gorgeous, sure, but what was it about her that literally took his breath away? Dean had met beautiful girls on several occasions, and slept with them on even more. But something about this girl had him feeling lost in his own skin.

The only way to fix this would be to clear his head. And what accomplished that better than a nice, long, walk on the beach?

The moonlight was so bright that there was absolutely no need for light. The white light that bounced off the waves was nearly enough to hypnotize, and Dean had amazing concentration…it wasn't going to work.

He probably would have continued on like this until he'd made it more than once around the island. That is, if there hadn't been a body in his path.

He rushed over to the small form, obviously female, she had her back to him, curled into a fetal position, her naked flesh glowing in the moonlight. Kneeling next to her, he turned her shaking body to face him, the most familiar eyes meeting his own.

"Makenna?" he whispered upon seeing her. He nearly dropped her, letting her roll back to the other side.

Upon her name being spoken, her dark eyes fluttered shut, and her head lolled back onto his forearm, unconscious. Dean shrugs out of his leather jacket and wraps it around her, lifting her small frame easily into his grasp and heading for the hotel.

This was definitely their kind of case.

☼☼☼

Sam awoke to bright sunlight flowing in through the open curtains and filling the room. The clock on the nightstand between the two beds told him that it was only just after seven in the morning. He could see the lump that is his brother in the next bed, breathing easy and content, just like he always did.

The opening of the bathroom door startled him, and he immediately crouched his upper body into a fighting position, not that it would do him much good sitting here in bed.

Dean strolls easily out of the steaming bathroom, last night's clothes crushed and tucked firmly under an arm as he moves toward his duffel. Sam's eyes move from his brother to the lump in the bed and back again, his mouth agape, not knowing how to find the words.

"Shh. Don't wake her," Dean says in a sort of stage whisper from where he stands, back to Sam, shoving the dirty clothes into the bag.

"_Her?_" Sam says incredulously. "We're in town for one afternoon, and you've got a _her_ in bed with you? I will never understand it."

"No, Sammy, not that kind of _her_," Dean replies, like an adult to a child, moving to sit next to his brother on Sam's bed. "It's Makenna." Sam furrows his brow in confusion and shrugs his shoulders. "The girl from the beach yesterday."

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me. I thought she _walked away_."

"Sam, there's something really strange going on here, and when she wakes up, I intend on finding out what exactly it is. I didn't sleep with her. I found her, lying naked on the beach, and she fainted the moment I picked her up. I brought her back here, and she's got some explaining to do," Dean states in his most serious tone.

"Wait, wait, wait. _You_ were down on the beach last night? Why?"

"Couldn't sleep. Not important. I'm gonna go get some coffee. Whatever you do, do not leave this room. Watch her like your life depends on it. Got it?" Sam nods, eyes focused on the lump in the bed. "Alright, I won't be long, but if she's not here when I get back, and that's your fault, I swear on all that is good in this world that I _will_ kill you."

Sam watches his brother leave, only slightly put off by his threats. However, not put off enough to stay in the room. When nature calls, you can't let the answering machine get it.

That was his mistake. Sighing contentedly, Sam emerges from the bathroom, moments later, only to find the blankets on what should have been Dean's bed pulled back, and the body gone.

"Shit, Dean's gonna be pissed," he said to himself, running a hand through his hair.

☼☼☼

"What do you mean she's gone?" Dean tries his best to keep his cool. He'd known something was off when Sam came out of their room to meet him, closing the door behind him.

"I went to the bathroom, and she was gone. Like she'd been waiting for me to be out of the room or something. I'm so sorry," Sam sighs, genuinely contrite.

"Well, then, I guess we'll have to find her again. And I don't particularly want it to be on another midnight stroll, no matter how hot she is," Dean says decidedly.

"You don't think she's a-"

"A selkie? I have no idea, but it isn't normal for a girl like that to be out on the beach, naked and alone, in the middle of the night. I think she knows more than she let on."

☼☼☼

A/N: Well, here's chapter two….sorry it took so long, I've been busy….hope you like it! Chapter three should be up soon!


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